Theater of War: Act One, Scene 4
by TOW
Summary: Conclusion of Theater of War: Act One - "Every Man Must Play a Part"
1. Chapter 1

Act One

Scene Four

– One –

"Colonel Hogan," Kinch called. "Look at this."

Hogan took the message from Kinch's hand and whistled.

"It's the first time he's ever contacted us directly, isn't it?" Kinch asked.

Hogan nodded. "Wonder what's up?"

"What what's up?" Newkirk asked as he and the others came over.

"The Stage," Kinch explained. "He wants to see the Colonel."

"The Stage!" Carter exclaimed. "Wow! It must be really important."

Baker grinned. "Hey, we're moving up in the world. The big time. If the Stage wants our help."

"Whoa!" Hogan dampened their enthusiasm. "He just wants to see me. Doesn't say anything about wanting our help."

"But what else could it be?" LeBeau asked.

"Could be anything. Including something he didn't like us doing," Hogan reminded.

"He wouldn't do that," Carter said.

"Even if he did," Kinch said, "we're not part of his operation."

"No," Hogan agreed, "we're not. But from the way London reacts every time we mention him, we might as well be. We're big fish in the little pond around here. But he's a big fish in the biggest pond there is. And what he says goes."

"When do we go, Colonel?" Newkirk asked.

"We don't." Hogan looked at the message in his hand. "He wants to see me. Personally and alone."

"Whoops!" Baker said softly.

"Must be something special," Carter said.

"Yeah," Hogan said.

"You don't look too thrilled, Colonel," Kinch said.

A faint smile. "The truth is I don't know if I should be. I'd like to think he wants our help. But I can think of a couple of reasons for him to chew me out."

"But why now?" Newkirk asked. "He hasn't been seen around here in weeks. And we've been behaving ourselves."

"You mean," Hogan said, "I've been behaving myself. But we could have accidentally interfered with one of his operations."

"He can't get mad at us for that," LeBeau objected. "Not if he doesn't tell us about it."

"This is the Stage," Hogan reminded. "He can do anything he darn well pleases." Then a grin. "Look, I'm getting bent out of shape over nothing. This is the first time he's personally asked to see me. Maybe he'll let us in on one of his operations. Even if he chews me out, it'll be worth it just to see him."

"Yeah," Carter said. "Maybe you'll even get to see him without that mask on."

Kinch grinned. "Wouldn't that be something?"

"It sure would," Hogan admitted. "But that's a real pipe dream. Rumor has it that no more than a dozen men have ever seen him without a mask."

"Mister Secrecy himself," Baker commented.

"With good cause," Hogan said. "The Gestapo has been after him for years."

"Yeah," LeBeau said. "Hochstetter has a fit every time the Stage gets near this area."

"Don't underestimate Hochstetter," Hogan warned. "I know we tend to treat him as a joke, but he's not. I've heard stories about some of his interrogations; they're not pretty. And he hates the Stage. If he ever found out who the Stage is . . . " He left the thought dangling.

"Yeah," Newkirk said with disgust, "that bloody sadist would have the time of his life."

"If you want the truth," Hogan said slowly. "Much as I'd like to know who the Stage is, I'd rather not. That kind of knowledge is a bit too dangerous to have."

"So, when's the meeting, Colonel?" Baker asked.

Hogan glanced at the message. "Tomorrow night. 2300 hours."

...

The Stage stared at the message he had transcribed. It had come in on one of the normal channels, one he routinely monitored to see what the other groups were doing. And it had come in addressed to him.

Papa Bear wanted to meet him, alone. Something urgent to discuss. He had no idea what it would be. There was nothing unusual going on at the moment. In fact, it was rather quiet. Not that he was complaining; he could use the rest.

But why would Papa Bear want to see him? And why use that channel when it would be easier to go through London?

His blood ran cold. There could be one explanation. Just one. And a simple message would confirm it. He set the radio to a rarely used frequency and sent the message. They would respond in exactly forty-nine minutes. He checked his watch and walked over to the chair. He picked up the book he had been reading and opened it.

Forty-nine minutes later, he tuned in to another frequency. The message came in. And his explanation was confirmed.

Now he had a decision to make. What to do about Papa Bear? Or, more precisely, what to do about Colonel Hogan?

He could leave the man to his fate. It would end the operation at Stalag 13, but Stalag 13 could be written off. It would be unfortunate, but at this point in the war, it would make little difference.

It would also leave Hogan and his men in the hands of the Gestapo.

Fortunately, they didn't have much valuable information to reveal. He could warn all the units who would be affected that they had to leave. In less than an hour, it would be over.

And Hogan and his men would be dead. Dead after the Gestapo finished with them.

A thin smile. He had known from the start what his decision would be. He had always known.


	2. Chapter 2

Act One

Scene Four

– Two –

Colonel Robert Hogan, Papa Bear, waited impatiently in the cold. He glanced at the sky. Even the moon seemed cold, unfriendly. Had he made a mistake?

But one did not turn down an invitation to meet the Stage. And, despite his resolve, the question nagged Hogan. Who was the Stage? The few times he'd met the man had made Hogan even more curious. The meetings had revealed nothing about who the Stage was. Though there was something vaguely familiar . . .

Well, maybe, tonight, he might find out. But was he sure he wanted to?

Some bushes rustled in the darkness off to his right, and a voice sounded quietly, "'The day is done — '"

"'And the darkness falls from the wings of night(1),'" Hogan answered.

"Good evening, Papa Bear. I see you know your Longfellow."

"Not really; I just know what others tell me," Hogan admitted, peering into the darkness. He could barely make out the dark figure.

"Pity. Longfellow is an excellent poet."

"I'll take your word for it." Hogan stepped closer to the figure. "What can I do for you, Stage?"

The man stayed in the shadows. "I have a mission for you, Papa Bear. A very important mission."

"What is it?"

"Come closer, Papa Bear. I want to see you clearly."

"'Walk into my parlor,'" quoted a voice from the shadows on Hogan's right. "'Said the spider to the fly.(2)' And you are the fly, Papa Bear. This is a trap."

The dark figure before Hogan whirled sharply toward the voice. Hogan caught the glint of a gun a spare instant before it spat fire at the unseen voice. An answering plop from Hogan's right, and the dark figure gasped as he fell to the ground. In the far darkness, a whistle shrieked loudly and voices shouted incoherently.

"Quickly, Papa Bear!" Hogan's savior whispered urgently. "Follow me!"

Hogan followed without hesitation as the figure before him ran swiftly through the woods. Behind the running men, a clamor of dogs and voices could be heard.

The barely visible figure reached a car, jerked the door open, and got in. The engine turned over with a soft purr. Hogan tumbled inside as the car started. It sped off quickly into the darkness. Hogan kept an eye out for any pursuers. But after a while, theirs was the only car in sight. By then, Hogan was hopelessly lost.

The car turned down a narrow track between some thick shrubs. It eventually stopped in a hollow surrounded by shrubs, the engine still purring quietly in the darkness. Overhead, a canopy of massive branches concealed the car from the air. Once the lights were turned off, the darkness was complete. Hogan couldn't make out the black-clad figure sitting silently beside him.

"I should thank you," Hogan said. "How did you know?"

"The trap was meant for both of us, Papa Bear," the voice said. "You were to be captured first and then used to bait me. But I had an advantage; I knew you would not contact me."

"Don't be so sure," Hogan said. "What if I had wanted to reach you?"

"I would have ignored the request."

"Thanks a lot!"

A faint chuckle that turned into a gasp.

Hogan turned toward the unseen voice. "Something wrong?"

"I am afraid the fool was a better shot than I had anticipated," the man next to Hogan admitted.

"What?!"

"I fear that I need your assistance, Papa Bear," the voice said calmly. "But first I must have your word that you will not remove the mask."

"You're hurt!"

"Your word, Papa Bear."

"You have it," Hogan promised quietly.

"Thank you."

The Stage's hand reached out and touched a switch. The surprisingly strong interior lights came on. Hogan looked startled at the amount of light.

"This place is completely safe," the voice reassured him.

"I'll take your word for it," Hogan said. "Now, let me see."

The man turned toward Hogan. Blue eyes peered at him from beneath a mask that covered the Stage's head down to his lips, lips that were tightly strained.

Hogan tugged at the zipper on the front of the Stage's sweater. The fabric felt damp. Hogan pushed the left side of the sweater over, revealing a bleeding wound in the man's shoulder under the collarbone.

"Nasty," Hogan murmured, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and laying it on the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood.

"The bullet is still in there, Papa Bear," the voice said tightly. "It is pressing on the nerves." The blue eyes watched Hogan intently. "You will have to remove it."

"What?" Hogan was shaken. "There must be some other way."

"There is not," the Stage said calmly. "We are too far away for me to use any of my people. I am sorry, Colonel Hogan."

Then a sharp intake of breath. The firm muscles under Hogan's fingers tightened perceptibly and the Stage's head drooped a little.

Hogan looked at him in alarm.

"I am . . . sorry." The voice was strained.

"What the hell are you apologizing for?" Hogan said, angry with himself for being so squeamish. "Have you got a first aid kit?"

"In the trunk." The Stage fumbled with the door. Hogan leaned across him and opened it. "There is more room in the back."

"Okay."

Hogan stepped out of the car into the freezing cold and walked back to the trunk. While he found the medical kit, the Stage got into the back seat. Hogan climbed back inside, the kit in his hand.

The Stage sat with his head leaning against the back seat, his eyes closed. They opened as Hogan moved in next to him.

Hogan opened the medical kit and pulled out a sterile cloth. He pulled the zipper on the Stage's sweater completely down. Despite the outside cold, sweat had plastered the small hairs on the Stage's chest. Blood further matted the hairs.

Hogan carefully wiped the blood off the man's chest. Then he removed the handkerchief ineffectually stemming the bleeding, dropping it to the floor of the car. Hogan started working on the wound itself. The chest muscles had tightened under his touch, but the Stage made no sound as Hogan carefully probed the wound.

Hogan dropped the bloody cloth into the bag and scrounged for another. He also found a pair of long, thin forceps at the bottom of the bag, wrapped in sterile gauze. He continued to rummage in the bag.

"What are you looking for, Colonel Hogan?"

"I don't suppose you have any painkillers in this thing?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

"That's what I thought," Hogan murmured. He was not looking forward to this. "I should have swiped some from the camp infirmary."

"That would be stealing," the Stage chided gently.

"They'd never miss it."

"Such drugs are tightly inventoried, Colonel. It could mean serious trouble for the man in charge."

Hogan glanced at him. "You mean Klink?"

"Possibly."

Hogan stayed quiet, his eyes dropping back to the bag.

The blue eyes peered at him intently. "Do you hate him so much, Colonel Hogan?"

"No, I don't hate him," Hogan said in a low voice.

"Despise then."

"I did. Once," Hogan admitted reluctantly.

"Why?"

Hogan stayed silent.

"Because he is a German?" the Stage guessed. "And because you could manipulate him so easily. You despised both his nationality and his behavior. Despite the fact that you needed him to be so gullible, you wanted him to be more of a challenge."

A very reluctant, "Maybe."

"Was that why you led the Gestapo to him?"

Hogan was astonished. "How did you know about that?"

"There is very little that goes on around here that I do not know," the Stage said calmly. "Or did you just want to put him in his place? Show him how vulnerable he really is."

Hogan stayed quiet, unwilling to talk about Klink, even with the Stage.

"You took quite a chance, Colonel Hogan," the Stage continued. "Fortunately, all they did was question him for a few hours. But you know what would have happened if they didn't believe your story?"

"Yeah," Hogan admitted. "The truth is, I didn't think of that."

"Very sloppy, Colonel Hogan. Hochstetter hates Klink. No man, no matter how foolish, deserves what Hochstetter would have done if he had been there."

"I know," Hogan said softly. "I messed up royally that time."

"At least, you admit it."

"I'd be a fool not to. I nearly destroyed everything we've worked for all these years. Just to prove a point."

"Did the point get proved?" the Stage asked softly.

"No. And it made Klink angrier than I'd ever seen him. Sometimes I wonder if he's still angry about it," Hogan added in an undertone.

"From what I heard about the cave-in, I do not think so," the Stage said. "It appears that the cave-in proved a point as well."

"What point?"

"That you two have a wonderfully symbiotic relationship. You both need each other. Perhaps more than either of you is willing to admit." The voice was beginning to fade.

"Save your strength," Hogan said quietly.

"There is a canteen under the seat," the Stage said in a now faint voice. "And salt tablets in the bag."

Hogan found the canteen and the tablets. He gave one of the tablets to the Stage. Then holding the canteen to the Stage's lips, Hogan helped him drink.

"Thank you." Then, "Do it quickly, Colonel Hogan."

Hogan nodded and picked up the forceps. His hands were shaking. _Stop it! He's the one who should be shaking._

_Is he afraid? He doesn't act afraid._

Hogan's fingers rested lightly on the Stage's chest, his right hand grasping the forceps tightly. A quick glance at the masked face. The forceps touched the wound. The muscles under his fingers convulsed, then relaxed ever so slightly.

_This has happened before_, Hogan thought bleakly. _I'm just guessing at what it feels like. But he already knows. All too well._

_Don't think. Just do it._

The forceps entered the wound; the shoulder muscles tensed as the instrument touched the raw flesh. The lips under the mask were a thin line; sweat beaded the Stage's neck and chest. Not a sound, not a groan, escaped the tight lips.

The forceps continued inward. After an eternity, Hogan felt them touch the bullet.

The forceps opened, the muscles tightened, the lips opened. Hogan waited for the sound he was afraid to hear. Then, mercifully, the muscles relaxed, the eyes closed, and the Stage slipped into unconsciousness.

Hogan dropped the bullet on the floor of the car and wiped the sweat from his brow with a shaky hand. Quickly, he bandaged the wound. As he did, the unconscious man next to him muttered faintly. Hogan glanced at the Stage sharply. That odd familiar feeling was back.

Hogan finished bandaging the wound. As the zipper slid up to the top of the sweater, the Stage stirred. Slowly the eyes opened on Hogan's worried face.

"Have I been unconscious long?" the Stage asked in a whisper.

Hogan shook his head and raised the canteen to the Stage's lips.

The Stage took a long swallow. "Thank you." Then his eyes closed wearily.

Silently, Hogan repacked the medical bag. Then he looked at the man beside him. Suddenly, he felt a need to talk. "Stage?"

"Yes?"

"Do you want to know the real reason I turned Klink in?"

The blue eyes opened and looked at Hogan. "I assume it was to get even for the American's death."

"That was the excuse," Hogan said. And turned away from the penetrating gaze. "The real reason was to prove to myself that Klink was nothing more than a tool. An expendable tool," he admitted. "And that he meant nothing to me."

He fell silent; the Stage's eyes stayed on his face.

After a moment, "When I walked into his quarters," Hogan's voice was shaking now, "and saw what Martinelli had done to him, I, uh, felt something for him. Something I didn't want to feel. And the only way I could shut off that feeling was to prove to him that I could do what I wanted to him and it didn't matter."

"But it does matter?" A quiet question.

A shaky breath. "What would you say if I said it did? Very much."

"That depends," said the very soft voice. "Is it remorse? Or pity? Or guilt?"

"All of the above," Hogan said in a low voice. "And more." _To the end. You and me._

The Stage's eyes stayed on his face, reading the emotion in Hogan's eyes. There was a glint in the blue eyes.

"I would say," the Stage said softly, "that you have learned a very important lesson, Colonel Hogan." His eyes closed tiredly but he continued to speak. "Do not dehumanize people, Colonel Hogan. That is what happened in my country."

Hogan looked at him in surprise.

"People stopped being people. They became objects of contempt, ridicule and hatred. It became very easy to steal from them, to deny them minimal comforts, and to strip them of all rights. Once that happened, it became easier to imprison them, or hurt them, or kill them." The blue eyes opened and looked at Hogan again. "It is supposedly easy not to treat the innocent that way. It is much more difficult when the people so treated are those whose actions you abhor and must oppose." The pain-filled eyes turned away from Hogan.

Hogan didn't know what to say or do. "Would you like a drink?" he finally asked.

The masked head shook. "No. What time is it?"

Hogan checked his watch. "Nearly three."

"Three." The Stage opened his eyes and straightened up. "It is time to leave."

"You're kidding!" Hogan objected.

"No."

The Stage opened the car door and got out. He sat in the front seat behind the wheel.

Hogan looked at him in amazement. Except for a certain slowness, the Stage moved normally. No one looking at him would ever know that he just had a bullet removed from his shoulder. No one would ever guess that he was still in pain.

He was, wasn't he?

"Colonel Hogan," the Stage said in a normal voice. "I will drop you off about five kilometers from Stalag 13. You will have to walk from there."

"And you?" Hogan asked.

"I have my own refuge."

"You need rest," Hogan said bluntly.

"Rest," the Stage said dryly as the car began to move. "Haven't you heard, Colonel Hogan, that the Stage is tireless and needs no rest?"

Hogan stared at the back of the masked head. "Yeah. And he doesn't get hurt either," Hogan said.

"No, he doesn't."

"Are you sure you're the Stage?" Hogan asked, trying for some humor.

A tiny smile. "If I am not, Colonel Hogan, then we are both in trouble."

...

The black car stopped near a country lane in the woods. The door opened and Hogan stepped out.

"Colonel Hogan."

"Yes, Stage?"

"Despite what I said, there is always the possibility that I might contact you. To safeguard both of us, I will call through London. If someone contacts you in any other way, I strongly suggest you ignore the request."

"What if I want you?" Hogan asked.

"Same method. Tell London." The eyes glinted with humor. "But do not be surprised if I refuse."

"Thanks," Hogan said dryly.

A smile. "Colonel Hogan, with all due respect, I can think of no possible reason for you to contact me. If you do think of one, I would suggest you tell London the reason."

"All right, Stage. You're the boss."

Another smile. "I do hope you realize that, Colonel Hogan. Good night."

"Good night."

Hogan watched the car drive off. Then, shivering slightly, Hogan headed back toward the camp.

* * *

1Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: "The Day is Done"

2Mary Howitt: "The Spider and the Fly"


	3. Chapter 3

Act One

Scene Four

– Three –

Later that day, Hogan was in the tunnel, telling his men what had happened.

"It was as if nothing had happened." He shook his head in disbelief. "I mean, he moved normally, talked normally. No one would ever believe that he'd just been shot."

"Boy, he sure is something," Carter said admiringly.

The others nodded in agreement.

"Any guesses as to who he could be, Colonel?" Baker asked.

Hogan shook his head. But . . .

"You know, there was something familiar about him. I can't put my finger on what it was. Maybe just a feeling."

"You think you could have met him somewhere?" Newkirk asked.

Hogan shrugged. "It's possible."

"He could be anybody," LeBeau said. "A soldier, a traveler, someone who came to camp. Anybody."

"Whoever he is, I hope he's long gone," Hogan said soberly. "The Gestapo's not going to be very happy that their trap failed. They'll be poking around here again tomorrow."

"That'll make Klink happy," Kinch said dryly.

"Doesn't make me happy either," Hogan said. "I don't think we're going to like tomorrow."

His words proved to be prophetic. The next day, Major Wolfgang Hochstetter and a squad of SS troops descended on the camp shortly after breakfast. They barely had time to get everything down in the tunnel. And they only had that much time because Klink objected vigorously if uselessly to the search.

All of the men in the camp were standing in the freezing cold as the SS troops turned each barracks inside out. Hogan protested vehemently, and even more uselessly, than Klink had. Hochstetter ignored him.

Klink stood on the porch as the search dragged on. Hogan appealed to him for help but gave up as Klink shrugged. In the past, Hogan might have egged Klink on, just for spite. But now, he accepted Klink's silence.

Finally, Hochstetter was done. Disgusted, he stormed up the stairs to the office.

"Satisfied, Major?" Klink asked bitingly.

"No!"

"You found something?" Klink asked with mock pleasantness.

"You know I did not!" Hochstetter spat.

"I knew you would not, Major," Klink said in a cold voice. "Why do you always persist in these useless searches every time something goes 

wrong with your plans? This is a prisoner of war camp, Major, not the headquarters of the local underground."

"Because, Herr Kommandant, this camp always seems to be in the center of any underground activity."

"You have been saying that for years, Major," Klink said. "And despite many useless attempts, you have never been able to come up with any proof." Klink turned away, ignoring Hochstetter's baleful glare. "Colonel Hogan," Klink said, "I am sorry for the inconvenience. Your men can return to the barracks."

"Yes, sir." Hogan saluted and glared at Hochstetter before turning away.

"That man," Hochstetter muttered beneath his breath.

Klink ignored him. "If you are quite through disrupting the camp, Major, I have work to do. Good day."

Klink turned and went back into his office. Hochstetter, to Hogan's surprise, followed Klink.

"Kinch," Hogan said as he entered the disordered barracks. "Set up the coffeepot. Hochstetter's got something else on his mind."

...

Klink hung his coat on the rack and pulled off his gloves. He walked over to the heater, rubbing his cold hands over it.

The door opened.

With a glance at Hochstetter, Klink went to his desk and took off his cap, dropping it on the side of the desk. "Still here, Major?" he asked politely.

Hochstetter walked over to the heater. "That Stage," he grumbled. "If I ever get my hands on him . . . "

"He is not hiding among the prisoners," Klink said, looking through the mail on his desk.

"Maybe not," Hochstetter said. "But he could be one of the townspeople."

Klink stared at him. "Ridiculous!"

"Or hiding in the nearby woods." Hochstetter turned to Klink. "I want fifty of your guards, Klink."

"Fifty!" Klink was outraged. "Would a hundred be better?"

"Ja. When can I have them?"

"Never," Klink said bluntly, opening an envelope.

Hochstetter walked over to the desk. "You are refusing to give me any guards?"

"Yes, I am," Klink said firmly. "This camp is highly overcrowded. I cannot spare anyone for a fool's errand."

...

"Uh, oh," Kinch said softly. "I don't think he should have said that."

...

"Are you calling me a fool, Klink?" Hochstetter asked silkily.

"Of course not, Major." Klink's voice became more appeasing. "But I cannot spare any of the guards."

"Klink, I am ordering you to give me those guards!"

"Ordering, Major? I do not take orders from you. I take orders from General Burkhalter."

...

"Klink's getting brave in his old age," Newkirk observed.

...

"Should I call the general, Major?" Klink asked.

Hochstetter stared at him. "That will not be necessary, Herr Kommandant!" Hochstetter spat the words. "I will manage without your help."

"I am sure you will. Now, if you don't mind, I have — "

Hochstetter's hand slammed down on the papers before Klink. "Klink, I will give you one last chance. Give me those men!"

Klink rose slowly to his feet. "For the last time, Major," he said firmly. "The answer is no."

"Are you refusing to cooperate with the Gestapo, Kommandant?"

"No, Major. I cooperated in letting you search the camp. I cooperated in letting you disrupt the guards and prisoners. I cooperated with you when I was ordered to do so. I have no such orders now, Major."

"So you refuse to help the Gestapo look for those who would betray the Third Reich and lose the war for Germany."

"If you are looking for those who would lose the war for Germany, Major," Klink said bitingly, "you are in the wrong place. I suggest you start in Berlin."

...

Hogan's men raised their brows at Klink's indictment. Hogan, remembering their talk last week, wasn't really surprised.

...

"Your recent brush with death has made you bold, Kommandant! Take care it does not take you too far."

"Thank you for your warning, Major," Klink said sarcastically and started to sit.

Hochstetter's hand slammed down again. "Klink, I have a dossier on you thicker than anyone else in Germany. Every time I see you, another entry is placed in it. I have put up with you for the last time." He stepped closer to Klink. "From now on, Kommandant, I will be watching you." Hochstetter's voice was low, threatening. "And I will be listening. If I even hear a rumor of a rumor linking you with any subversive activities, you will disappear into a cell.

"Oh, not the kind of cell you enjoyed last month, Klink, but one far more interesting. And, Klink, I will personally ensure that the pain you will feel will be infinitely more exquisite than anything you have ever felt before. And, I promise you, Herr Kommandant," Hochstetter's voice dropped even lower, "that you will scream and scream and scream until you have no voice left to scream with.

"Nor, Klink, will you escape from that cell as easily as you did last month. There will be only one way out of that cell for you, Klink. And that will be when your broken body is carried out to the dump along with the other trash.

"Do we understand each other, Herr Kommandant Klink?"

Klink's eyes met his. "Yes, Major," he said quietly. "We understand each other. Quite well."

Hochstetter smiled. "Good, Kommandant. Good. Until the next time, Kommandant."

...

They heard the door close behind Hochstetter.

"Wow!" Carter said. "Is Hochstetter ever mad at Klink!"

"What set him off?" Baker wondered.

"The war," Hogan said worriedly. "It's going too badly. They're looking for scapegoats. Anywhere and everywhere."

"But, Klink?" LeBeau asked.

"Hochstetter's hated him from the moment they first met," Hogan said, disturbed by what had happened. "And we haven't helped any. Hochstetter's been shown up too many times. Even Klink's managed to do it. It's just fueled his hate."

"Do you think . . . " Kinch started.

...

"Herr Kommandant?" Schultz walked in, a worried look on his face.

Klink slowly sat behind the desk. "I assume you heard."

"I could not help it, Herr Kommandant," Schultz said apologetically. "You were both shouting."

"That man!" Klink began loudly and winced. His voice dropped. "He always gives me a headache."

The worry grew on Schultz's face. "You should have let him have the guards, Herr Kommandant."

"General Burkhalter said he could search," Klink retorted. "He said nothing about giving Hochstetter any guards. And Hochstetter knew that." Another wince.

Schultz looked at him. "Perhaps you should lie down, Herr Kommandant," Schultz said.

Klink nodded. "I think I will. But first, please ask Colonel Hogan to come in."

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant," Schultz said.

...

"Time to close down," Hogan said.

Kinch hurriedly put away the equipment.

In minutes, Schultz was there, asking for Hogan.

...

Hogan was surprised at Klink's appearance. "Are you all right? You don't look too good."

Klink was irritated. "A headache. Brought on by that idiot, Hochstetter."

"He left me with a headache also," murmured Hogan.

"Yes, he tends to do that."

"What's up, Kommandant?" Hogan asked.

"You won't like it."

"How many?" Hogan guessed.

A small smile. "A dozen or so. General Burkhalter was not very specific."

A sigh. "When?"

"About one."

"All right," Hogan said. "We'll get ready for them."

"Thank you. Any problems, please see Captain Gruber. I'm going to try to take a nap. It might make the headache go away."

Hogan grinned. "The only way that'll go away is if Hochstetter does."

A tiny smile in response. "I think you're right. But, unfortunately, that is not about to happen."

"No, I guess not. Any more wonderful news?"

Klink shook his head. "No."

"Okay. Enjoy your nap, Kommandant."

Klink absently returned his salute.


	4. Chapter 4

Act One

Scene Four

– Four –

It was almost 1400 when the truck entered the compound. Hogan and his men watched as it headed for Klink's office. Right behind it, to their surprise, was another truck. And another. And . . .

Hogan stared as six trucks rolled into the compound.

Hogan's surprise was nothing compared to Klink's as he slowly walked down the stairs to the first truck.

"What is this?!" Klink demanded irritably of the SS captain who approached him.

"Prisoners, sir," the captain said coolly as Hogan walked over to them.

"I can see that!" Klink snapped. "What are they doing here?"

"They are to be delivered into your custody, Herr Kommandant."

"All of them?!"

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant." The captain handed Klink some papers.

His eyes skimmed the sheets. "There must be some mistake. General Burkhalter said a dozen or more."

The captain almost laughed. "There are a dozen or more here, Herr Kommandant. Exactly one hundred and sixteen more."

His amusement disappeared as Klink looked at him. The captain coughed uneasily. "Our orders were to deliver them to you, Kommandant. If you are unable to take them, we will take them elsewhere."

"Where?" snapped Klink.

"A concentration camp, Kommandant," the captain said smoothly. "Perhaps an SS camp?"

Klink stared at him the captain stared back.

"I will keep them," Klink said slowly.

Tiredly, Hogan noted.

"As you wish, Kommandant."

"Schultz!"

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant!"

"Have the men checked in," Klink said.

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant." Schultz wasn't too happy. "Herr Kommandant, what do I do with them afterwards?"

Klink glanced at him. "I don't know, Schultz. Right now, I don't know." His expression grew grim. "But I intend to find out what happened!"

Klink turned and walked back to his office.

Hogan nearly ran to his barracks.

...

Newkirk was complaining. "They can't be serious, Colonel!"

"Yeah," Kinch said. "Another hundred and sixteen?"

"And Klink's taking them?" from Baker.

Hogan was already in his office. "He didn't have any choice. The next stop would have been a concentration camp."

By the time the coffeepot was set up, Klink was already on the telephone.

"Herr General," his voice held a rare note of grim anger, "I was expecting a dozen men. Not over a hundred! You cannot expect . . . But, Herr . . . More tomorrow?!" Klink's voice rose. "How many more? . . . Fifty! . . . But, Herr General, the camp is already overcrowded. I cannot . . . Herr General," his voice was now low, tight, "at that rate, the population of the camp will double by the end of the month . . . But . . . I see, Herr General. Then I need more men. And money . . . " A choke. "I beg your pardon, Herr General. I thought you said my budget would be cut by twenty percent."

The listening men looked at each other in surprise.

"Herr General," Klink began another protest. "But . . . I . . . Of course, I understand, Herr General." His voice said otherwise. "Auf Wiedersehen, Herr General."

They heard the receiver click, then the door open.

"Fraulein Hilda, please ask Hauptmann Gruber and Sergeant Schultz to come in. Thank you."

The door closed.

The chair scraped as Klink sat down again. And they heard nothing until the door opened again.

...

Both Gruber and Schultz saluted as they entered.

Klink's voice was low. "Fraulein Hilda, I would like you to take notes."

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant."

Klink began. "I have just been informed that we can expect another fifty prisoners tomorrow. And more throughout the month."

"But, Herr Kommandant — !" Gruber objected.

Klink continued in the same unfamiliar voice. "There is a good chance that by the end of the month the population of the camp will have doubled."

"Are we getting any more men, Herr Kommandant?" Gruber asked.

"Nein," Klink said. "If we are extremely lucky, we may not lose any. Our budget is also being cut by twenty percent, effective immediately."

"They are joking, Herr Kommandant," Schultz said hopefully.

"No joke. Hauptmann Gruber, inform all officers that their pay will be cut by fifty percent immediately. Sergeant Schultz, noncommissioned officers will be cut twenty-five percent," Klink continued relentlessly. "All officers and noncommissioned officers will be given the same rations as the prisoners. That will reduce costs."

"What about the other guards, Herr Kommandant?" Schultz asked.

"I will try to keep their food and pay the same for now. They will have to work longer hours due to the increased population," Klink said. "Later on?" The listening prisoners could almost hear the shrug. "At 0800 tomorrow, the heads of all departments are to bring their accounts to my desk. Each and every expense item will be closely scrutinized. As will everything else. Up to now, I have tolerated the petty theft that goes on around here — "

Brows lifted among the prisoners. They thought Klink had been blind to what was going on.

"But no more. Thefts will be punished severely the first time. The second offense will result in a transfer to a combat unit. That is cheaper than having the offender shot.

"That is all for now. Sergeant Schultz, please get Colonel Hogan."

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant!"

"Fraulein Hilda, due to the money situation, I will not be able to keep you longer then a couple of weeks. I think it best if you tried to get another job."

"I . . . " Hilda was hesitant. "I will see, Herr Kommandant."

"As you wish."

The door closed as Kinch broke the connection.

...

Klink was standing at the window when Hogan arrived. He didn't turn around.

"We will be getting another fifty prisoners tomorrow," Klink said without preamble. "And more from this point on. Our budget is also being cut by twenty percent."

"I take it we are now hurting."

A humorless smile. "We are now in pain. And I doubt if that will be the only cut."

"They can't be serious."

"Perhaps you would like to talk General Burkhalter out of it," bitterness in the sarcasm. Then much quieter, "The world is closing in, Colonel Hogan, and we are all caught in the trap. There is nothing that either of us can do about it."

He shook himself and turned away from the window. "Tomorrow morning there will be a meeting with all department heads," Klink said in a more normal voice. "I would like you to attend," he added to Hogan's surprise.

"Me?"

"Whatever happens will affect you and your men," Klink said. "I do not want you to be surprised."

"I take it the cuts will affect us as well."

A nod. "Unfortunately, it cannot be helped."

"Any more cheerful news?"

Klink's head shook.

He looked tired, Hogan noted. "How's your headache?"

"It came back when the trucks arrived."

Hogan managed a smile. "That's what I thought. The new men are still outside. Where are you going to put them?"

"We will increase the count per barracks to twenty-three that will be sixteen hundred and fifty-six men in the barracks. The other sixteen will have to spend the night in the cooler for now."

"And tomorrow's fifty?"

"I have identified a couple of storage buildings that can be converted to barracks. I was hoping to use them to ease the congestion in the barracks. Now?" A shrug.

"And what about the stuff in those buildings?" Hogan asked.

Klink removed the monocle from his eye and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. "I don't know. Right now, I can't think too clearly."

"We could build another couple of buildings," Hogan said slowly.

Klink looked at him in surprise. "I have nothing to bargain with," he said slowly.

Hogan smiled at him. "Come on, Kommandant. There's always something to bargain with."

He was surprised to see real anger flare up in Klink's eyes.

"There is nothing, Colonel Hogan! Nothing!" Klink looked unexpectedly grim. "Tomorrow morning, I will have to slash, not luxuries, but necessities. I have to . . . "

Klink stopped as he saw the look on Hogan's face. And pulled himself erect. "I . . . I am sorry." He turned back to the window. Their new relationship was still growing, still fragile. And he was afraid of jeopardizing it. "I did not mean to yell. It is just that — "

"I know," Hogan said quietly. He walked over to the man at the window and, hesitantly, put his hand on Klink's shoulder. "You and me, Kommandant," he whispered softly. "No matter what happens."

Klink nodded slowly.

Hogan could feel the tension lifting from the tight muscles under his hand. His hand lifted from Klink's shoulder.

Klink cleared his throat and walked away from the window, back to his desk. He sat behind it.

"Captain Gruber can prepare the temporary quarters," he said carefully. "We can see where we stand tomorrow before we decide anything else."

Hogan smiled faintly. "I can live with that."

Klink couldn't meet his smile. "And when the camp's population hits three thousand?"

An impudent grin. "We could always organize an escape."

To his surprise, Klink smiled reluctantly. "Only if I can join it."

Hogan laughed. "We'll send you an engraved invitation."

Another smile. "You probably would. Now, get out of here, Colonel Hogan I have work to do."

"Yes, sir." A salute, much more professional than in the past.

Klink returned it as their eyes met.

_To the end, Kommandant_.

Klink nodded slowly.

_To the end._


	5. Chapter 5

Act One

Scene Four

– Five –

Colonel Robert Hogan, still not quite believing it, was present at the morning's staff meeting.

He wasn't the only one not believing it; Hauptmann Fritz Gruber objected to Hogan's presence.

"But, Herr Kommandant," Gruber said angrily in German, "he is a prisoner. This does not concern him."

"The cuts affect everyone in the camp," Klink said smoothly. "I invited Colonel Hogan so that he will know what is going to happen."

"I object strongly to this, Herr Kommandant," Gruber continued, ignoring the warning glint in the other officers' eyes. "General Burkhalter should be informed that the enemy is being invited to comment on Luftwaffe business."

"And you intend to tell him?" Klink didn't look at his irate captain. Instead, he twirled a pencil in his long fingers.

"Yes, I do!"

"That is your prerogative, Hauptmann," Klink said smoothly. "You may call him after you reach your new billet."

Gruber stared at him. "My what?"

Klink looked at him for the first time. "I believe you heard me, Hauptmann." He switched to English. "Shall we start the meeting, gentlemen? You are excused, Captain."

Gruber stared at Klink in astonishment and didn't move.

Klink looked at Gruber evenly. "Still here, Captain?" asked the soft unfamiliar voice.

"I . . . " Gruber visibly shook himself. "Forgive me, Herr Kommandant. I forgot myself."

"I hope you will remember your manners in the future, Captain." Still the soft, unfamiliar voice.

Another shake. "Jawohl, Herr Kommandant," Gruber whispered.

Klink nodded. "Captain Dingel(1), you are in charge of supplies. Your books, bitte."

Klink held out his hand. Reluctantly, the officer passed him the records. Klink opened the thick volume.

Hogan settled back in his chair, his eyes on Klink. The day might turn out to be more interesting than he had expected.

Hogan listened quietly for the most part.

Until now, he had never really appreciated how much effort and time went into running the camp. Yeah, he complained, often bitterly, in the past about how things were going and what the prisoners were getting. But he hadn't quite realized how complex the camp operation really was. Everything had to be brought into camp — food, supplies of all kinds. Transportation had to be arranged, not only for the camp personnel but the prisoners as well. Water, electricity, sanitation, all had to be planned for. The camp was, in reality, a small town and everything had to be taken into account. Everything.

Hogan sat back and listened as the various officers and Schultz, representing the noncommissioned men and guards, presented their records to the Kommandant and found themselves having to justify every expense.

Klink cut. Across the board, he cut. No area was safe from his slashing pencil. Hogan could see that none of the men present were very happy, but none could complain that anyone was given preferential treatment.

Except for the prisoners. Klink refused to cut there. Instead, he was tightening up on everything else.

Bleakly, Hogan realized that Klink was leaving them alone for now because he was afraid of more cuts in the budget. The fat was being trimmed away from the accounts; in the case of the pay, it was more than the fat. But when would he be forced to cut into the meat of the budget?

Hogan half expected Klink to bring up the problem of the crowded barracks. But he hadn't. In a way, Hogan was relieved. He preferred to hash it out with Klink first.

So he just sat back and listened, still a little surprised that he was actually learning something.

...

The meeting had broken up when Hogan's men heard, "Oh, Fraulein Hilda, may I have those budget figures, please?"

"Here they are, Kommandant."

They heard pages rustling. A pen across paper.

"One more minor change," they heard Klink say.

"But, Kommandant!" Hilda sounded aghast. "That is your pay!"

"I know. Not a word, please, Fraulein. This will be our little secret."

"But, Kommandant," Hilda protested. "You can not do that! How — ?"

"I have one other source," Klink said smoothly. "By the way, have you considered other employment?"

"Jobs are very scarce, Kommandant," Hilda said. "So far, I have not found anything."

"That other source will be able to pay for half salary for you as well, Fraulein Hilda. At least for a few months. That is, if you would consider staying. I am sorry that it cannot be more."

"I will think about it, Herr Kommandant."

"Thank you. And I would like the report by the time you leave, Fraulein Hilda."

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant."

They heard the door shut.

"How do you like that Klink?" Newkirk was disgusted. "Cutting everyone's salary and then giving himself full pay."

"Typical Boche sneak," grumbled LeBeau.

"Who is?" Hogan asked as he walked in, overhearing the last comment.

His men looked uncomfortable.

"Well?" Hogan demanded.

"Uh, well, sir," Carter started and fell silent.

Baker broke the news. "Klink just told Hilda to put his pay back to what it used to be."

Hogan stared at them and then, cold fury on his face, left the room.

"We shouldn't have said anything," Carter said worriedly.

"Why not?" Newkirk demanded roughly. "He's been treating Klink with kid gloves ever since that cave-in. This'll open his eyes."

"At what cost?" Kinch asked pessimistically. "The Colonel's never been so relaxed. Or the camp run so well."

"Well, Klink's a cheat," LeBeau said. "It's time the Colonel remembered that."

...

Hogan stormed into the outer office. Hilda looked at him in surprise as he opened the inner door. Empty.

"Where's Klink?" Hogan demanded.

"He went to his quarters for a minute," Hilda said, puzzled by his behavior.

Hogan sat on a chair. "I'll wait."

"Please, Colonel Hogan," Hilda found herself saying. "Don't cause any trouble. The Kommandant has had a bad day."

"Well, it's going to get worse," Hogan said grimly.

For a change, Hilda was annoyed with Hogan. "It was bad enough that the Kommandant had to do this miserable job when he was getting paid. But now that he will be getting nothing — "

Hogan stared at her in surprise. "What did you say?"

"Oh. I wasn't supposed to say anything. But you made me angry, Colonel Hogan."

"What do you mean, he's getting nothing?"

Hilda sighed. "The Kommandant has reduced his pay to nothing. He is also going to pay me half salary out of his own funds."

"Hilda," Hogan asked slowly, "does he have much money of his own?" _Money taken from the budget?_

"I really do not know; it is none of my business," Hilda replied. "But he has been a soldier all of his life; most of his expenses have been paid by the military. And his personal expenses have normally not been extravagant."

"I know he's taken money from —(2)"

Hilda smiled. "Oh, that. He paid that back, with interest, a long time ago."

Klink entered the office from the inner door. "Colonel Hogan." Klink was surprised to see him. "Did you forget something?"

"Yeah," Hogan said slowly. "But I won't forget it again."

Klink looked confused. "I beg your pardon?"

Hogan smiled. "Never mind, Kommandant. See you later."

Hogan left the office, feeling Klink's puzzled eyes on his back.

Hogan was whistling as he walked back into the barracks.

His men stared at him in astonishment and trailed him into his office.

"Colonel," Baker began.

"You really shouldn't listen to gossip," Hogan admonished mildly, though his eyes were far from mild. "Or spread any without getting the facts right."

"Klink didn't change his pay?" Newkirk was astonished.

"Oh, he changed it all right." The mildness was fading from his voice. "Right down to zero."

"Zero!" LeBeau exclaimed.

"Yeah, as in nothing." A tinge of sarcasm in his voice. "So the next time you listen to a conversation, make sure you really know what's going on."

Abashed, "Yes, sirs" from the others.

Hogan shrugged. "No harm done," his voice normal again. "When's lunch? I'm starving."

"Fifteen minutes, mon Colonel," LeBeau said in relief.

"Good," Hogan said. "Need any help?"

"As a matter of fact, sir," Newkirk started, "we were just going to do that."

"But — " began LeBeau.

"Yeah, that's right, Colonel," Kinch said even more hurriedly. "We were just going."

"Right," Newkirk said with forced cheer. "You just sit down, Colonel, read your mail, and lunch will be ready soon enough."

There was almost a collision as they pressed out of the door.

Hogan stared after them for a moment and then began to smile.

* * *

1"Klink vs. the Gonculator"

2"Standing Room Only"


	6. Chapter 6

Act One

Scene Four

– Six –

It was nearly three when the new prisoners arrived. Hogan watched the two trucks enter the compound. His eyes narrowed. Following the trucks was Hochstetter's car.

Klink came down the steps as Hochstetter got out of his car. Hogan wandered within earshot.

"Major," Klink greeted the Gestapo man neutrally.

"Your prisoners, Klink." Hochstetter thrust the papers in his hand at Klink, hitting him in the chest with them.

His lips tightening, Klink grasped the papers and glanced through them.

Fifty-three new prisoners. That increased their numbers to seventeen hundred and twenty-five men. And he still had sixteen men in the cooler. He had no choice; he would have to squeeze one more man into each already crowded barracks.

"Sergeant Schultz!" he called.

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant!"

"Process the men," Klink ordered and started up the stairs to his office.

Hogan casually wandered over to the porch as Hochstetter followed Klink.

"One more thing, Klink," Hochstetter said with a sneer. He thrust another piece of paper at Klink.

Klink looked at the sheet, his expression growing grimmer. "You cannot be serious, Hochstetter."

Hochstetter grinned, enjoying Klink's discomfort. "I am quite serious, Klink. You will observe the signature. Fifty men, Klink. Now!"

"The trail is long gone," Klink said tonelessly. "Taking those men will do you no good."

"Are you refusing me, Klink?" Hochstetter asked gloatingly. "The question becomes why? Perhaps you have something to hide." He stepped closer to Klink. "Perhaps we should take a trip to Gestapo headquarters. That cell is there, Klink, just waiting for you."

Klink turned away from Hochstetter, his expression frozen. "Take your fifty men, Hochstetter, and get out of my sight!"

Hochstetter laughed softly as Klink went into the building. He was still laughing as he turned and saw Hogan leaning against the building.

"Ah, Colonel Hogan," Hochstetter greeted him with good humor. "Lovely day, isn't it?"

"You really are a snake, aren't you?" Hogan said softly.

Hochstetter laughed, not offended. "I see you heard about yesterday. Did he tell you?"

Hogan shook his head. "You should be careful what you say next to an open window, Hochstetter."

A shrug.

"What rock did you crawl out from, Hochstetter? You and other bastards like you?"

"Bastard, Hogan?" Hochstetter sneered. "Isn't that what you called the Kommandant just a few weeks ago?" He smiled as Hogan stiffened. "Such a nice thing to call a man who had been beaten for hours and was forced out into the cold half naked. What a pity I was not there to see it. I would have enjoyed every second of it. Only, I think I would have waited until Martinelli pulled the trigger before I ordered my men to shoot. It might have made an interesting experiment."

A step closer to a paling Hogan.

"Tell me, Colonel Hogan, do you think Martinelli would have killed Klink? Or maybe just wounded him? Maybe he would have lingered for days in excruciating pain before he died. Maybe he would even have screamed, screams that would have echoed through this camp before he died. Or maybe he wouldn't have died, but he would still have screamed — "

"Damn you, Hochstetter!" Hogan shouted furiously. "Damn you!"

Hochstetter smiled. "Why, Colonel Hogan, I understood that's what you wanted. Isn't that what you wished the Kommandant after he had recovered from his ordeal? Pity about that cave-in. You almost got your wish. But . . . " A careless shrug. "Perhaps, next time, the Kommandant will not be so lucky. Perhaps, the next time, the Kommandant will not have you around to hold his hand."

Hogan turned away from Hochstetter's taunting eyes, his wounding words.

Hochstetter chuckled softly and walked away.

Hogan leaned against the building, forcing down the tightness in his throat.

The guilt was back again. That horrible feeling he had managed to bury deep inside himself. But Hochstetter had resurrected it once again. He could hear his words . . .

_Bastard . . . _

_Prefer he had killed me . . . _

_Perhaps I do . . . _

And worst of all, his betrayal of Klink to the Gestapo.

_Oh God, if Hochstetter had been there . . . If Hochstetter had taken Klink . . ._

A shudder, a sob in his throat.

"Colonel Hogan." Klink's voice came from behind him.

Hogan started and slowly straightened, pulling away from the building.

"Colonel Hogan," Klink repeated. "Are you feeling all right?"

Hogan forced down the sob, forced himself to look normal as he turned back to Klink.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he lied smoothly. He might never be fine again.

Klink glanced at his set face; Hogan couldn't hide his paleness. But Klink made no comment. Instead he said, "I've been thinking about our space problem. I'd like to discuss it with you."

"Of course, Kommandant," Hogan said neutrally.

"My quarters, if you don't mind." Klink gestured.

A little surprised, Hogan followed Klink around the small fence, into the yard, and up the stairs to Klink's living quarters.

Klink took off his overcoat and cap, hanging them on the rack.

"Would you like a drink, Colonel Hogan?" Klink offered, pouring brandy into a glass.

"Yes, thank you." Hogan took the proffered drink gratefully.

"Sit down, please." Klink gestured and poured himself a drink as well.

In the past, Hogan would have wondered what he was doing here and why Klink was being so nice to him. In the past. Yet even back then, it was normally his suspicions that kept him from enjoying the informality. Suspicions that were mainly unfounded. A glance at Klink. Were they beyond such suspicions now? Or did the uniforms they wore still intrude on their relationship? He didn't really know. And neither did Klink.

_One step at a time. Just take it one step at a time._

"I have been looking over the camp records, Colonel," Klink said as he sat across from Hogan. "There is a Sergeant Rizzo in Barracks 12 and a Sergeant Doyle in Barracks 18."

Rizzo. Doyle. Hogan nodded, placing the two men.

"Sergeant Rizzo," Klink continued, "studied architecture in school, and Sergeant Doyle was a construction foreman in civilian life. I would like them to take charge of building three more barracks in the compound. Unfortunately, that is as many as space will allow. Then I would like them to work on converting as many of the storage buildings into living quarters as possible. And also help with the problem of what to do with the equipment and supplies that would be displaced by the conversion."

"You seem to have thought about it a bit, Kommandant," Hogan observed.

Klink nodded. "That should give us at least eighty buildings for the prisoners. That will allow us to house approximately nineteen hundred men. For now, at any rate."

Hogan did a quick calculation. "You're still looking at twenty-three, twenty-four men per building. A little cramped."

"I think it will get more cramped than that, Colonel Hogan," Klink said in a low voice.

"You think we'll have three thousand men here?" Hogan asked.

Klink sighed and stood, pouring himself another drink. "I don't know. There have been attacks, counterattacks and bombings. All of which result in prisoners. I don't know how many will wind up here."

"So who's going to do what?" Hogan asked.

"I would like your men to build the barracks. The conversion of the storage buildings can be handled by my men."

"With or without those fifty Hochstetter took," Hogan said bluntly.

Klink stiffened.

"That was an observation, Kommandant," Hogan said. "Nothing more. Which brings up another point. How many of your men will you be able to keep?"

"I am losing ten tomorrow," Klink said tonelessly, picking up a piece of paper from his desk. To Hogan's surprise, Klink handed it to him.

"Any replacements?" Hogan asked, glancing at the orders.

A shrug. "If so, they'll be what? Old men, boys still in their teens," Klink said pessimistically.

"Which means there will be problems," Hogan said, not too happy.

Klink nodded. "For both of us."

Hogan drained his drink; Klink refilled Hogan's glass and sat down.

"Well, Colonel?" Klink asked, looking at him.

"All right, Kommandant," Hogan said slowly. "I'll talk to Rizzo and Doyle. You know I can't order them to help."

Klink nodded. "Yes. And now the other point. What do you want in exchange?"

Hogan's eyes were on him as Klink leaned against the sofa back. Then Hogan's eyes dropped to his glass.

What did he want? After being at the morning session with the officers, Hogan knew what Klink had to work with. He could forget about extra food rations, or paper, or some of the other things he had normally conned out of Klink in the past.

"An extra hour of electricity in the barracks," Hogan said slowly. It wouldn't cost that much more. He glanced at Klink.

There was a faint smile on Klink's lips and a glint in his eye.

And Hogan grinned. Time for the bargaining to begin.

They compromised, finally settling on half an hour of light during the week and an hour on the weekends.

Another drink to seal the bargain, and Hogan left to talk to his men.

Doyle and Rizzo agreed to help with the buildings. They, as well as most of the men in camp, knew how crowded it had become. And they all wanted to ease the crowding.

The next morning, the two men, along with Hogan, met with Klink in his office. The men had already drawn up some preliminary plans for the Kommandant's approval.

Klink nodded as he looked at the tentative plans. The wood would have to be cut by the prisoners as well. As for the other things . . .

Doyle and Rizzo rushed to reassure the Kommandant. Their plans called for buildings built pretty much as the early American pioneers had built. It called for little in the way of nails and other building supplies. 

Instead, it would take strong backs. Well, with all of the prisoners in camp, they had plenty of strong backs.

By the following morning, Doyle and Rizzo had picked their work parties. There would be ten crews of twenty prisoners apiece, guarded by four men, cutting trees for the buildings. Each group would be working a four-hour shift. The prisoners had to volunteer; unlike in the past, they would not be paid for their work. But they had no trouble getting volunteers. Everyone was anxious to relieve some of the crowding.

Once the trees had been cut, another group of fifty or so prisoners began readying the wood for building. Then another group did the actual building.

Hogan nodded appreciatively as the first building went up. It didn't take that long. And it went up in less time and a lot more efficiently than the two buildings that had gone up in the prior weeks. Then, Hogan really didn't care about the buildings.

Well, not quite true. He cared. And the buildings were well-built considering. But the work had been done slowly, with a great deal of grumbling.

Now? His eyes sought out Klink standing across from one of the new building. Now that they cooperated with each other, it was affecting the rest of the camp as well. No one was happy with the overcrowded conditions, but as relations between the two of them got better, it eased the tension considerably. And now it was more important than ever.

Klink had lost thirty of his guards. Guards that had been replaced by only ten men.

Men? Hogan almost laughed when he saw the replacements. Seven of the new guards were boys still in their teens, the other three rejects from anyone's army. And they were plainly scared and nervous. Scared and nervous guards tended to be more belligerent. And belligerent guards tended to notice things as well as increase tensions among the men. But so far, Schultz was keeping them in line.

As for the new prisoners, for the most part they were still airmen. But they were cockier than the past prisoners; they knew they were winning the war. The men who had been in the camp for years had lived through defeat and times when they had thought they were going to lose.

Then there were the few infantry soldiers they received. Sometimes, even Hogan had trouble controlling them. When friendly persuasion didn't work, orders did. Hogan had his men working overtime, so to speak, getting the new men involved with the camp. So far, it was working.

So far.

As for Klink . . .

Hogan and Klink were spending a lot of time together. But no matter how the conversation began, it always turned into a talk about how things were going in the camp. Now, instead of fighting each other, they were cooperating with each other. The camp saw and, for the most part, accepted their new relationship.

Hogan was grateful. And, he had to admit, a little surprised. But, in hindsight, he could see the roots of that acceptance.

When Martinelli, even now Hogan found himself wincing when he thought of Martinelli, forced Klink out into the cold that day, Klink's appearance and obvious pain gave most of the prisoners a new view of the despised Kommandant. And Klink's behavior after the incident, the lack of animosity on his part towards the prisoners, served to reinforce that view. Hogan's behavior on that snowy day had startled them even more. And most of them guessed that Hogan had been responsible for the Kommandant's later arrest, though few of them really knew the facts. And that incident, if not exactly eliciting sympathy for the Kommandant, did serve to further mitigate the harsh light in which most of them had seen Klink.

The prisoners couldn't help but see how badly their relationship had deteriorated after that incident with the Gestapo. And most of them were uncertain how to react. They were afraid of offending Hogan whose temper had become unpredictable. And they were afraid of crossing Klink who had withdrawn into himself. Klink had seemed colder, more remote, than ever before. In the past, Hogan had been the one to intercede on the prisoners' behalf, successfully. But as their relationship worsened, no one wanted to cross Klink for fear of drawing his anger on them. For the first time for many of them, they realized that Klink, whether they liked it or not, did have the power of life or death over them.

Then came the cave-in. Few of the prisoners had helped in freeing the trapped men. But those that did told the others an interesting story. A story where Hogan, who had made his hatred of Klink more than clear over the previous weeks, had actually helped the trapped Kommandant.

But something else had also happened. And no one, no one but the two men who now walked across the compound together, knew what. Whatever it was, it had led to Hogan spending the night in the hospital after the Kommandant had been freed. Whatever it was, it had led to Klink calling that unprecedented truce on Christmas Eve, and again on New Year's Eve. And whatever it was, it had led the two men to cooperate in running the camp.

Whatever it was.

Hogan's eyes stayed on Klink as the Kommandant walked back to the office.

Even now, Hogan was still afraid to completely admit how he felt about Klink. The emotion was so intense, so deep, that it scared him. It scared him that he could feel that way about another human being, especially about a man that he'd thought he'd despised, thought he'd hated. A man that most people would probably say he should hate. A man that some of his men thought he should hate.

A sigh. His changing behavior toward Klink had not pleased everyone. He had known it would not. Maybe that was one reason why he had denied the truth for so long. What his men would think, what they thought, was important to him. Not so much the rest of the camp. But instead the five men he had grown to respect for their different talents and strengths. And their loyalty to him.

They had put up with a great deal. Put up with his moods and his hair-brained schemes. Despite all odds, they had performed miracles in this camp. Despite their grousing and complaining, he knew that each of them would gladly risk their lives for him. And they had. So what they thought was important.

His changing behavior toward Klink had surprised them. They had not agreed with his harsh behavior after Martinelli died. Nor had they agreed with his betrayal of Klink. Not out of any feeling for Klink, but because it didn't seem in character for Hogan. For Klink, he winced, there had been more than contempt. More than once, they, at least Newkirk and LeBeau, had openly joked about Klink's death, and he knew they meant it. And he had never objected, never stopped their insults and ridicule. He had, if not encouraged, tolerated behavior, comments, that Klink had never permitted among any of the guards. The guards had always respected his rank and the rank of any officer in camp. But he had not given Klink the same courtesy, all because he was a pathetic fool and a German.

And now that his behavior toward Klink had changed, it left his men puzzled. And, Hogan knew, even a little angry. What made it worse was that, right now, Hogan couldn't explain what had happened to them. Right now, he couldn't really explain it to himself.

But it didn't make any difference. He had made Klink a promise in that cave. A promise based on feelings for a foolish, naive man who had, somehow, managed to become closer to him than any other human being. And regardless of what his men thought of him, it was a promise Hogan would honor.

If he had to, with his life.

* * *

The Stage looked at the paper in his hand with satisfaction. This was the final piece of information he needed. Now he could finalize his plans for the next series of strikes — three of them in different parts of Germany. Each of which should, he hoped, help to end the insanity still gripping his country.

He allowed himself a small smile. This time, he would personally lead one of the strikes. The one near Hammelburg.

But first a candid assessment of his physical condition. His leg was, as the Americans liked to say, good as new, despite the unplanned workout he'd subjected it to last week. The wound in his shoulder was healing nicely, despite its accidental reopening a few days ago. By the time of the strike, he would be in peak condition.

Well, almost, he was forced to add. He had to admit that he hadn't been in peak condition in a long time. Fatigue, and the events of the past few months, conspired against him. That and the realization that he was no longer as young as he used to be. He'd been battling the Nazis for nearly eleven years; it had taken a toll whether he wanted to admit it or not. But still he should be ready for the strike in a couple of weeks. All that remained was to finish his plans and relay them to his lieutenants.

As for the job he planned to lead, he'd have to contact London. A rueful smile. Well, he had been the one to restrict contact between himself and Papa Bear. At the time, it seemed like a reasonable precaution. One that would protect both of them. But now that he'd finally decided to let Papa Bear in on one of his operations, going through London seemed like a waste of time. Ah well, it couldn't be helped.

He leaned back in his chair, anticipating, just a little, the mission. He found himself actually looking forward to it. And it had been a long time since he'd felt that way about anything. Perhaps it was Papa Bear's infernally annoying cheerfulness that was infecting him. God knew he'd had very little to be cheerful about in the past eleven years.

Or perhaps it was the anticipated look on Papa Bear's, or rather Colonel Hogan's, face when he —

A raucous shout outside intruded on his thoughts.

He stood up, walked to the window and looked out. The day was cold, but the sun was starting to peek out from behind the clouds. A baseball game was being played in the compound. A close one he gathered from the noise generated by the players.

One of these days, he really should learn more about baseball. After all of the games he'd seen, one would think he'd already know what was going on.

An unconscious sigh. It had been a long time since he'd been able to watch something as simple as a baseball game.

Perhaps next week . . .

No. The week after. After his meeting with Papa Bear, after the mission.

After the mask came off.

Then perhaps he'd be able to sit down, have a drink with Colonel Hogan, and talk about something that had nothing to do with the war. Something like baseball. It sounded absolutely wonderful.

Yes, he thought with rare pleasure, it really will be wonderful.

And Wilhelm Klink smiled.


End file.
